Timeless

by Teresa Reasor

  Quinn followed.

  “The doctor will have come here. He comes by every day now,” Lamont said.

  Irritated by Lamont’s plodding pace, Quinn controlled the urge to jog down the path and leave the man behind. Had he known which cabin Nicodemus occupied, he’d have done so.

  Lamont stopped midway down the row of bungalows. “It’s this one.” He mounted the steps and opened the door without knocking. Quinn bound up the stairs hot on his heels.

  Nicodemus sat in a chair near the door. One of the security men who traveled with him stood behind the couch.

  Regan sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket, sipping a cup of hot liquid. Relief washed over him, releasing the tightness of his stomach and shoulders.

  Lamont stepped aside and Quinn brushed passed him. He strode to the couch and kneeled beside her. Her face appeared drawn and tired, her skin paper white. Dark half-moons discolored the skin beneath her eyes. She certainly looked ill. Almost fragile.

  He controlled the desire to crush her to him. “You look a bit pasty, lass.”

  Her dark eyes grew glassy with tears, and she set aside the cup. “Are you all right?”

  “Aye, certainly.” He nodded. “I got into a bit of a panic when I couldn’t find you, and one of the flight attendants said you’d been taken away by two men.”

  “Miss Stanhope was very ill, Quinn,” Nicodemus said from his seat, drawing his attention.

  The change in the man was so dramatic, Quinn fought hard to keep his expression under control.

  “She’s received an injection to settle her stomach. And there was a mishap with a glass earlier, but her cuts have been cleaned.”

  “I’m much better now. I just want to go back to my cabin,” Regan said.

  “Aye, lass. I’ll take you.” Quinn took her hands in his and finding them icy cold, began rubbing warmth into them.

  “Her laptop was turned in at the desk at the airport,” MacBean said. “I’ll get it.” He turned and disappeared down the hall, and as quickly returned.

  Regan threw aside the blanket and rose to her feet. She flinched as though in pain.

  Quinn slipped an arm around her waist. “What is it, Regan?”

  “I was so dizzy and nauseous I fell in the bathroom at the airport.”

  “A hot bath will help with that,” MacBean said as he offered Quinn the computer case, strap first.

  “Hopefully so,” she said. She paused at the door. “Thank you, Mr. Nicodemus.”

  “You’re welcome, Regan. Hurry and get well. You have a lot of work to catch up on.”

  She nodded without looking back.

  Quinn kept an arm about her waist as they climbed the hill. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m better now that you’ve come.” At the top of the hill, she turned and pressed close for a moment. “I think I just need a long lie down.”

  “Lie in,” he corrected her holding her against him.

  “That too.”

  He smiled at her quick return. She must be feeling better. “Your cabin or mine?”

  “Yours, I think. At least until I feel a little steadier. The girls will ask too many questions I don’t feel up to answering.”

  In the car she leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. But when he pulled the car along the front of the cabin, she roused. He jumped out and came around to help her out of the car.

  “I’m fine, Quinn. I can do this on my own.” She reached for the computer case strap and hefted it over her shoulder. “You can take the car up, and I’ll go on in and lie down. I’m still woozy from the drug I was given.”

  He handed her the keys to the door. And guided her up the steps. She unlocked the door and entered the cabin.

  “I’ll be right back after I park the car.”

  Regan nodded and shut the door.

  When he returned five minutes later, she was curled in a ball beneath the covers on his bed. He stood by the door and watched her for several moments. The frantic fear he’d experienced at the airport came back to shake him. What would he have done had they harmed her? His feelings had evolved into something stronger than he’d ever experienced. And it didn’t have a shagging thing to do with Coira and Braden or the crazy shite they were going through. But what was he to do about it?

  Try and keep her safe.

  He eased out of the room and shut the door.

  *****

  As the door closed behind Quinn, Regan turned her face against the pillow. The knot of tears lodged in her chest broke free. She had lied to Quinn through omission to keep him safe. But how was she to keep the façade in place?

  How could she not, when it would cost him everything?

  CHAPTER 39

  Sheary spoke from behind Regan. “It looks as though the she-shark senses blood in the water. She’s been circling you every few minutes.”

  The underground chamber, now pumped dry, maintained a stagnant smell. Large fans cycled fresh air in through the opening in an attempt to alleviate the odor. The constant flow ruffled Regan’s hair, and she brushed it back with her arm. She dipped her brush in soapy water and scrubbed at the bottom of the stone. “I called her a barracuda the first time we met,” she said without looking up.

  “To her face or to someone else’s?”

  Regan paused to glance over her shoulder. Sheary’s green eyes held a mischievous twinkle most all the time. But not today. “To Quinn.”

  “And what did he have to say?”

  “He agreed with me.” She studied Sheary’s expression. “I know they had a thing. Quinn told me about it. You don’t have to worry.”

  Sheary smiled. “Good. Rob told me a little about her. Wonder why she’s hangin’ about? I’d say she’s spyin’ on you.”

  “Let her spy. I’m not doing anything she can’t see.” It would be a cold day in hell before she’d let the woman in on any thoughts, feelings, or impressions she had about her current work area.

  For the last four days, she’d felt nothing. That lack of physical and emotional connection with the henge and with Coira worried Regan. If she dreamed, she couldn’t remember the next morning. The pressure Nicodemus placed on her lay on her as heavy as one of the twenty-ton lintels.

  She rose and backed away from the stone slab to study the surface.

  The two four-foot wide slabs spaced six feet apart would weigh in at least fifty tons each. Since their tops projected upward above the surface of the room, the part that could be seen had to stand nearly twenty-four feet tall. Taller than the rest of the monoliths. Their base sank into the chamber floor, their depth unknown.

  Why were these two different than the others?

  “The carbon dating’s been done,” Sheary said as she returned to scrubbing one of the stones. “ Twenty-four to twenty-six hundred BC. The same as some of the larger stones in Stonehenge.”

  “I heard,” Regan said. She turned to scan the room around her. The opening between the rooms now stretched twelve feet or more across, the bricks having been removed. An analysis had shown they were composed of iron oxide, clay, sand, and lime. A common composite from a much later time.

  A grid had been established across the room and narrow scaffolding placed three feet from the walls. A team of ten archaeologists was working on the squares of mud along the parameter of the chamber.

  The scaffolding cut across in front of the stones she was cleaning. From where she stood, she could see the edge of the steps leading upward to the rest of the henge.

  The room looked and felt so familiar, as though she’d spent years there.

  “They believe Woodhenge was a place of healing and life, and Stonehenge a place of burial and death. What do you think this place was used for?” Sheary asked.

  Regan scanned the room again. “I believe this is a place of healing.” How did you turn the stones on, Coira?

  If she could turn them on, could she heal Nicodemus without setting off a domino effect of avarice over the stones? Each time she saw the man, he
looked worse. Despite his threats against her and Quinn, she wasn’t callous enough to remain unmoved by his suffering. And he did suffer—horribly.

  From the pieces gleaned from Quinn’s dream-walk, Nicodemus had to be Argus’s nephew. Since Nathrach had spoken of healing his nephew and Nicodemus was ill, reason tied the two together. They were following the same course Coira and Braden had traveled.

  But where did the path of right and wrong deviate?

  And what could they do to correct the mistakes?

  And if they were able to, would it correct what had happened in the past?

  She studied how the roof formed a connection between the stones.

  ‘Believe,

  Time shall pass in a blink of an eye,

  And travelers shall walk through byways,

  And thou shall travel to a land whose stones are iron,

  And thou shall write the words upon the posts of thy house and on thy gate

  Out of time comes the answer,

  Out of love comes faith

  Walk into the sun,

  Power.’

  What words were on the portion of the stones above? Could she translate them by touch as she had the others? Would they offer her the key?

  And what did Isle Maree have to do with any of this? Translating the copy she’d made of Nathrach’s journal was a labor of determination. His mention of graves on Isle Maree, possibly of Bryce’s grave being there had sparked a desire to see the place. Finding the grave would be impossible and there would be nothing left even if they could. A newborn’s bones were too soft and would dissolve into the earth around them very quickly.

  “You’re not getting much work done if you’re standing around daydreaming, Regan.”

  Resentment steamrolled over her thoughts and jerked her head toward the woman’s voice. The muscles in her jaw tightened. “I didn’t realize you had become a supervisor, Marissa.”

  “That came about just this morning. I’m making sure the boss gets his full day’s work.” Her gaze roamed over the other people working in the chamber.

  A supervisor. She could destroy Regan’s career as easily as Nicodemus. Spy on her. Make her life hell.

  Regan fought hard to keep her voice on an even keel. “You might want to spend more time focused on your own work, instead of checking on me. You’ll want to be part of the solution instead of part of the problem. Or would you like for me to tell the boss you’re a distraction?”

  Marissa’s features grew hard with anger. “You’re wasting time.”

  “You haven’t any clue what I’m doing.”

  “We can remedy that. I’d like to see any notes or drawings you’ve completed.”

  Regan shrugged and retrieved her sketchpad.

  Marissa jerked the pad out of her hand and flipped it open. Her gaze moved hungrily over the drawings, and she turned page after page. Her lips compressed as she read the scarce notes Regan had written. “There are only computations here, no notes.”

  “There’s been very little to write about. I’m cleaning the stones and recording the markings as I uncover them.”

  “We have cameras for that. You’re wasting time with this. I’m only interested in your impressions and findings.”

  “Is there a problem, ladies?”

  Marissa’s gaze cut away to Seth Malone. She smiled, her expression brittle. The dark blue bruise along her cheekbone stood out. “Of course not, Dr. Malone. I’ve heard so much about Regan’s drawings I just wanted to see a few myself. Thank you for sharing them with me, Regan. I’ll leave so you can get back to work.”

  Regan reached for the sketchpad. Marissa released the book before she had a chance to grasp it. The pad flipped end over end and landed in the mud below the scaffold.

  Sheary gasped from behind them.

  Dr. Malone fell to his knees, and snagging the book between his fingers, jerked the sketchpad free of the mud. He whipped a rag from his back pocket and wiped at the dark brown stains that discolored the top drawing.

  “I’m so sorry, Regan. Please forgive my clumsiness,” Marissa said, her features fixed in an expression of abject apology.

  “Don’t worry. I may be able to fix the discoloration on the computer before I send them to Dr. Fraser and Mr. Nicodemus.”

  Marissa frowned.

  “You may have to redo one or two, Regan, but I think I got most of the mud off,” Dr. Malone said as he rose to his feet and offered her the pad.

  The edge of the pad had sustained some damage. But only one drawing seemed irreparable. Regan studied the ruined drawing of the chamber. “I suppose I can take the time to redo this one.”

  “That might be a good idea. You don’t want to turn in anything but your best effort,” he said. “Why don’t you start the drawing right now, and you’ll be finished by the end of your shift.”

  Marissa shot Regan one more look before she murmured something and walked away.

  Followed her progress up the stairs, Malone frowned. “I won’t ask what that was about.”

  Regan remained silent. Let him think there was some personal drama between them—which there was, but more.

  “There’s not a person in this room working any harder than you, Regan. If there’s any question raised about your job performance, I’ll have something to say about it.”

  Tears stung her eyes, and she struggled to maintain her composure. She had come here with such excitement, such joy, and had been robbed of everything. “Thank you, sir.”

  “If you want to redo the drawing now, go ahead.”

  “That’s all right, I can do the sketch later. Thanks, Dr. Malone.”

  He patted her shoulder and moved on down the scaffold.

  Regan knelt on the planking and reached for her brush.

  “She did that on purpose. Anyone with two eyes could see that,” Sheary said, outrage clear in her tone and expression.

  “It’s okay. Now she knows I’m turning them in, she’ll be more careful.”

  “Perhaps you can report her for harassment. Who hired her, anyway?” Sheary asked.

  “Nicodemus.”

  “Shite.”

  “Exactly.”

  They had fallen back into a companionable silence when she said, “You said is before. It is a place of healing.”

  Regan frowned. A slip of the tongue.

  “You speak of the henge as though it’s still a viable place of worship or—whatever it is— was.”

  “Perhaps the habit here of merging the past and the present has rubbed off on me. After all, Robert the Bruce is still alive and well in Edinburgh castle, for all intents and purposes.”

  Sheary laughed. “Too bad he isn’t. You could send for him to slay the she-dragon.”

  “She-shark, she-dragon. You’re much too nice.” Regan forced a smile. “But if ol’ Rob were about, I’d be tempted to give him a call.”

  “Are you going to tell Quinn about what happened?”

  Regan shook her head. There was nothing he could do. And if he tried, it might cause him more trouble. “I can take care of myself.”

  *****

  “You and your team have done an admirable job, Quinn. But now the stones are recovered and have been seated in place, you’ve finished everything that was stipulated in your contract—and then some.” Fergus Fraser slid an envelope across the desk. “You’ll find a healthy bonus in there for all the extra work you’ve done. Nicodemus has been very generous. And he’s included letters of recommendation for a couple of other jobs he thought you might be interested in. They’re yours if you want them.”

  Quinn had known this was coming, but it was still hard to wrap his mind around. He couldn’t leave Regan. But he had no excuse to offer Rob and Logan for staying. And he had a responsibility to them, to their business, to all the men who worked for him. Jesus, what was he to do?

  “What will be your next job?”

  “We’ve a contract to recover a cargo vessel in the channel just off the coast. She capsized and her cargo w
ent down with her, so we’ll have to unload her first.”

  “Sounds like risky business,” Fraser said.

  “Aye. Not much about salvaging is safe. “Once we get her afloat, we’ll tow her into harbor.”

  “Were the crew spared then?”

  “Aye. I believe there were a few hurt, but everyone survived.”

  “At least you won’t have to worry about body recovery.”

  “No, thank God,” he said with feeling.

  Quinn retrieved the envelope and held it in the hand covered by the brace. He forced himself to his feet. “I’ll go tell the lads.”

  “How’s the hand?” Fraser asked.

  Quinn studied the brace covering his right hand. It remained a necessary lie and one that tweaked his conscience every time he was asked about it. “A nuisance. I’ll have to wear this for a bit more. The bruising is almost gone.”

  “Very good. I’m glad there’ll be no lasting effects from the accident.”

  With Fraser’s thanks, he left the office.

  His stomach roiled. How can I leave Regan? Especially now?

  But Rob and Logan weren’t ready to carry the responsibility of the business, nor had they the technical training to plan and carry out the salvage jobs he had scheduled.

  Sick or not, he didn’t trust Nicodemus as far as he could throw the bastard. And what had become of the digital recording of Regan’s session? Who had the recorder? As yet, it hadn’t surfaced. He’d be leaving Regan in a situation that could be dangerous.

  But she could come away with me. Without her, the chances they would figure out how to work the henge were slim. They’d warned Coira about the threat to her baby, surely that was enough. But could he convince Regan to leave?

  As he exited the office, his attention settled on the henge. The late afternoon sun touched the ring of stones with gold. The two taller stones, connected by a lintel, looked like a gate or doorway leading to the altar.

  This is how it looked seven hundred years ago. Déjà vu struck him, and chill bumps erupted on his arms. No wonder people of that time thought the henge a place of evil.

  He strode down the hill and jogged across the road bisecting the dig. Local tourists had parked their cars and gathered at the fence. Some climbed the slope above to take pictures of the site.